Terror? SpikeFeather had not known Orr to be capable of such emotion.
Now SpikeFeather sat in a small flat-bottomed boat in the centre of a vast underground violet lake. Above him soared an immense domed roof of multifaceted crystals.
Where was Orr?
SpikeFeather did not know. He had called, but Orr had not appeared.
SpikeFeather could try to look for him, but if the past fifteen years had taught SpikeFeather anything it was that the waterways of the Underworld were so vast that to search for someone without a clear idea of where they might be would be to search in vain.
So SpikeFeather searched for clues in the words that Orr had sent him.
Qeteb. SpikeFeather frowned, rolling the word about his mouth until whispers echoed off the crystal roof.
Qeteb.
He did not know it. Nothing Orr had ever said in the past alluded to a Qeteb. It meant nothing in any of the languages SpikeFeather knew. All he knew was that with the word, Orr had passed across the knowledge of indescribable terror.
SpikeFeather shivered.
Qeteb meant nothing. What else? Grail. Grail King. Beware the Grail King in the Maze.
Only one word had some association for SpikeFeather. Was the repeated Grail a reference to Grail Lake? If so, then what?
SpikeFeather tried to think it through, but found no answers and came to no conclusions. Orr had never mentioned anything about the Sacred Lakes, and yet… yet… wasn’t there a mystery about them?
SpikeFeather sighed, and turned his mind to the other word.
The Maze. Orr had sent the message, “Beware the Grail King in the Maze.” And then, “Attend the Maze!”
The Maze? The Maze?
Where was Orr, where was he? SpikeFeather needed to find him, to get him to explain what this Maze was, and why SpikeFeather had to attend it. And why had Orr been so terrified of this Qeteb, and the Grail King?
SpikeFeather sighed. Even if he was almost certain he would never find Orr amid the meanderings of the waterways, he needed to try. He took hold of the oars and began his search.
The waterways was a world both magical and physical. Thousands of leagues of actual physical waterways wound about underneath Tencendor and the surrounding oceans, but the magical waterways extended far further. Those Icarü Enchanters who knew how, and who commanded enough power, could manipulate the waterways to mirror the various melodies of the Star Dance. If an Enchanter sang a Song to accomplish his or her purpose, then someone with the knowledge could travel a waterway that matched the pattern of the Song to accomplish the same purpose.
It was cumbersome, but possible.
But not for SpikeFeather. He was not an Enchanter, and Orr had never taught him the magical secrets of the waterways. So SpikeFeather travelled the waterways the most difficult way of all, by the strength of his own muscles and the labour of his heart.
He had no idea where to start looking for the ever secretive Orr, or for this Maze, or for any way to approach the Grail Lake via the waterways. The only one of the Sacred Lakes he knew the path to was the Lake of Life, and that was only because Orr had needed to show him an easy way to travel between Sigholt and the waterways.
So SpikeFeather rowed. He followed his instincts, and when that got him nowhere he followed his frustration and anger.
Where was Orr? What had he been so terrified of? What was wrong?
Who or what was Qeteb? The Grail King? The Maze?
SpikeFeather rowed. He rowed through caverns where grey stone cities lay smothered in cobwebs. He rowed through forests of glass and enamel. He rowed along waterways that were lined with weed, and some that were lined with figures carved from ice. He passed strange creatures embalmed in limestone, and others stranger trapped in petrified wood.
But he did not find Orr.
Finally, after many days, SpikeFeather sat in his flat-bottomed boat in the centre of the violet lake and wept. He had failed Orr in his hour of need. He had proven a failure as a pupil, and an even worse failure as a friend.
Orr had trusted him with those words and phrases, as he had trusted him to know he was terrified, perhaps unto death, and yet SpikeFeather could not help him.
Eventually SpikeFeather raised his eyes. There must be something he could do.
Who else had spent time with Orr in the waterways? Axis SunSoar had, but Axis SunSoar would reveal nothing of what he had learned from the Ferryman.
But there were others. The Lake Guard. As children they’d spent a night with Orr on their way from Talon Spike to Sigholt. No-one knew better than SpikeFeather how strangely time passed within the waterways. What if those children had spent one night of Overworld time in the waterways, but a year of Underworld time?
The children had been changed, all agreed on that. They were apparently loyal to Caelum, but did they in fact care more for…
“Orr,” SpikeFeather whispered. The Lake Guard must know something! And if not, then would they not help search for Orr?
Yes, surely.
Suddenly glad-hearted, SpikeFeather grabbed at the oars and rowed for the Lake of Life.
It was an arduous journey, and he was close to exhaustion when he emerged onto the moonlit lake. But once he’d moored the boat close to Sigholt he managed to wing his way to the roof with alacrity. Answers waited, and Orr needed his help.
There was no-one about as SpikeFeather made his way down to the quarters where slept WingRidge CurlClaw, the captain of the Lake Guard.
SpikeFeather tapped at the door gently, not wanting to startle the birdman, but was startled himself when it swung open to reveal WingRidge sitting at a table.
“Greetings, SpikeFeather,” WingRidge said.
“You knew I was coming,” SpikeFeather said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind him.
WingRidge shrugged. “I was merely passing the night with my memories. I thought you had gone back to the waterways, SpikeFeather.”
SpikeFeather was in the act of sitting down opposite the captain when he saw the embroidered device on the birdman’s uniform as if for the first time. A complicated knot – but weren’t all knots simplified mazes?
SpikeFeather slowly sat down and looked WingRidge in the eye. “I had to come back.”
“Really?” WingRidge leaned back and poured them both some wine. “How so?”
SpikeFeather briefly explained what he had experienced atop the roof of Sigholt, and the sense of terror that Orr had passed across to him.
“Terror?” WingRidge became suddenly very watchful. Orr had been standing guard at the Star Gate. What had he seen? Heard?
“I could not understand it. It was a terror so great it was almost formless. With the terror he passed across some words.”
“Yes?”
“Qeteb.”
WingRidge slowly put his glass down and stared at SpikeFeather.
“Beware the Grail King in the Maze.” SpikeFeather watched WingRidge’s reaction carefully, then leaned forward and tapped the birdman on the chest. “You know of what I speak!”
WingRidge nodded, his eyes shifting as he thought quickly. If Orr had been at the Star Gate, and if he knew of Qeteb, then he could only have known by two means. Firstly, he’d discovered Qeteb by a means as yet beyond the Star Gate. But WingRidge didn’t think that the case, for he’d have known – all would have known – if disaster was that close. No, Orr had likely found out via the Sceptre that Drago carried, and that meant the Maze wanted Orr and, through him, SpikeFeather, to know.
It also meant that Drago had likely stepped through the Star Gate. WingRidge almost smiled with satisfaction, then remembered SpikeFeather sitting impatiently before him.
“Then the time is nigh,” he said slowly, and did not know whether to feel excited… or terrified.
“Tell me!”
“Most of it I cannot, SpikeFeather.”
“WingRidge, Orr also told me that I must attend the Maze.”
WingRidge stared at his glass, his eyes carefully veiled.
“Curse you, WingRidge, I need to know where to find this Maze… this Qeteb!”
WingRidge laughed harshly, utterly devoid of humour. “No, no, you never wish to find Qeteb!”
SpikeFeather, exhausted and emotionally drained, lost his temper. “What demon do you owe your cursed loyalty to, WingRidge? What -”
“Never say I owe my loyalty to a demon!” WingRidge screamed. Leaping to his feet, he sent the table crashing to the floor with one furious twist of his wrist. “I owe my loyalty to the StarSon! Not to any damned demon!”
His fury stunned SpikeFeather back into silence.
WingRidge took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I offer my apologies, SpikeFeather. You are closely associated with Orr and the waterways, and it was you who first brought us into contact with the Underworld. For that I, as all the Lake Guard, remain in your debt.”